Sleepless nights
by Sophia Banks
Summary: Mycroft hasn't slept in five days, when he goes to 221B to talk to Sherlock who is forced to be the comforting one. *Bad summary but you get the idea* No slash or anything! Just brotherly love!


Mycroft Holmes had not slept in five days, and on the fifth day he was set in such a state that eating was no longer on the agenda.

It must have been some sort of PTSD, but he couldn't be sure seeing as he was too tired to think at all. He had been through a rather gruesome escapade including having several people shot and killed right in front of him, and though he was stiff about it one of the boys reminded him so much of...Well, you know don't you?

It was like he had uttered the words "I am so tired of this" when his body decided that sleep wasn't possible!

Sophia (his mentee) had been gone for weeks and was not to return for months, she lived in America and even though Mycroft paid for her to come to him she still had school and a life beyond learning about Government.

Mycroft was at home near the end of the fifth day, tired, hungry, and rather delirious he stood up from his chair called a car, and made his way to 221B.

(Sherlock's point of view)

Sherlock returned late (for a normal person that is) to 22B Bakerstreet. John had been upstairs and asleep for hours.

The youngest Holmes had mainly been roaming the streets in an attempt to stave off boredom only to find it way more boring than sitting at home and watching telly. He stepped through the door of his flat pulling off his scarf and throwing it across the room, only to find the lights on and Mycroft sitting on one of his chairs staring at the wall with a broken look on his face. He looked…Not put together at all, which confused Sherlock -not that he let that show.

"Mycroft, what do you want?" Sherlock asked scathingly, prepared to pick up his violin. Mycroft didn't turn, "I want you to stop it," he said sullenly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "Oh?"

"Yeah, you know... Cease, desist, all those big words," he smiled vacantly. Sherlock tensed, "You look half dead," he said in his (awesome) deep voice, his eyes flickering over his brother's form.

Hadn't slept in days, delirious in sleep depravity most likely. He bit his bottom lip, "Stop what exactly?" he said after getting no reply, feeling slightly apprehensive. The eldest Holmes sat up slightly, "Killing yourself," he said closing his eyes. Sherlock's brow furrowed, "What are you talking about?" he asked in a slightly scathing tone, "As you can see I'm still alive!"

"Not in real life you idiot!" Mycroft snapped into full wakefulness standing up, he paced running a hand through his disheveled hair, "In my dreams! Every blasted night you keep dying!"

Sherlock pulled away from his brother, he didn't know what to say to that. Sorry? No, definitely not! "How long exactly has this been going on?" he ventured, Mycroft's brow furrowed as he thought, "Four, five days, six in a few minutes..."

Oh god.

Sherlock instinctively moved forward and grabbed his brother's arm as Mycroft's leg's ceased to hold him up. He was still awake though, and he started to talk again once he had been dragged onto a chair, "I don't even know why!" Mycroft said a little too loudly, "Why I'm having such terrible reactions to this lack of sleep, or why just why one earth are you-? Oh, Sherlock I'm so tired!" Mycroft leaned over tears forming in his eyes, his words were turning into the lightest of sobs.

Sherlock didn't know what to do! Comforting was out of the question surely, maybe he could punch Mycroft in the face and knock him out? Give him sort of drug?

Sherlock even considered going upstairs to get John!

Mycroft was crying, something Sherlock had never seen before and he didn't want to see again after this! "There, there," he attempted. Mycroft looked up, "Oh shut up," he said attempting to stop his crying, "Sorry Sherlock," he continued, "But why won't you let me sleep?" he sobbed.

Sherlock had never seen his older brother look so vulnerable, it was freaky! Sherlock wondered just how Mycroft would handle it if it was Sherlock having the nightmares and the sleepless nights. "Look," he knelt down, tingles running through his fingertips and down his spine as he touched Mycroft's shoulder, "I'm sorry, I won't die," he said in his most comforting voice, "I'm not going to because you're protecting me remember?"

This was so asinine! But it seemed to be working, Mycroft blinked a few times, "Right," he mumbled, "Good, right, yeah," he said leaning backwards his eyes closing. Sherlock let out a breath, before he decided it best to move Mycroft over to the couch.

He draped his brother's arm over his shoulder, then lifted.

"I don't remember you being this heavy since the last time I did this," he mumbled, thinking absently of the time Mycroft had chased after him into the woods when they were little.

_"Sherlock get down!"_

_"And why on earth would I want to do that?" Sherlock replied having seated himself firmly on a large branch. Mycroft sighed, looking disdainfully at his surroundings, "Mummy will be cross and it's my fault of course," he said coolly, might as well go for honesty.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Wouldn't want mummy to be cross with you now would we?"  
"No, I wouldn't."  
Mycroft was no fun to argue with.  
Sherlock stood up onto the branch, "I could fall and break my leg! That would definitely get you in trouble!" he said. Mycroft put two fingers to his temples, "That would be by far the stupidest thing you would have ever- Sherlock!"  
Sherlock had leapt off the tree of course, just to spite Mycroft most likely. Or maybe he was just testing to see if he *could* break his leg from that height.  
All Mycroft knew is that he had to catch him!  
*Whoomp*  
"What did you do that for?" Sherlock questioned, he had successfully fallen into Mycroft's open arms but the eldest Holmes was nearly flattened under the sudden weight. (Sherlock wasn't that heavy but he fell from a tree!) His leg twisted underneath him and though it didn't break it was definitely injured, "I didn't want to get in trouble," Mycroft joked as Sherlock stood up, "Oh I see," Sherlock said in a hopeful continuation of humor, "You did this so you would have an excuse to laze around all day," he said reaching down so Mycroft could stand. The eldest Holmes felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, "Good plan wasn't it? Though I would have preferred something with less pain," he winced.  
"Can you walk?" Sherlock asked crossing his arms looking pleased with his brother's discomfort. Mycroft leaned against a tree trunk and stood up, taking a cautious step he sucked in air through his teeth, "I could," he said, "But I wouldn't enjoy it!" he said through suddenly clenched teeth.  
Sherlock considered letting his brother do just that for being annoying. But he decided against it, in case that brought repercussions later. "*Sigh* Here," he grumbled grabbing Mycroft's arm and slinging it over his shoulder, "Thank you kindly," Mycroft said lightly, a smirk playing on his features, "Oh, Shut up."_

Mycroft was thrown to the couch with minimal force; he groaned lifting his head slightly before giving up. Sherlock crossed his arms watching as Mycroft forced himself into a comfortable position whilst asleep.  
He knew that once Mycroft woke up he was going to be a number of things, embarrassed, annoyed, confused, among others. Looking down at his brother he remembered the time when he was young and he had had a nightmare about his death, and he would watch him sleep in middle of the night.  
Pulling off his coat he half-hazardly draped it over Mycroft's sleeping form, "Goodnight dear brother," he mumbled, thinking absently that he was getting too sentimental.  
Sherlock turned off the lights and made his way upstairs, smiling.

(Mycroft's point of view)

Mycroft woke on a couch… A couch!  
He wouldn't say that the feeling he had when he woke up was good, but it was certainly better than what he was feeling yesterday. He remembered vaguely of him coming to 221B but not much after that. He sat up knocking Sherlock's coat off of him, he bit his bottom lip as the gnawing hunger came into play.  
"I see you've finally awaken," Sherlock said coming into the living room, he was looking annoyingly smug. "So I have, I don't suppose I was very dignified last night was I?" he smiled amicably using his fingers to straighten out his hair, "You started crying."  
That wasn't good.  
"Really?" Mycroft asked, rather aghast at the idea, "Like a girl," Sherlock concluded. Mycroft snorted, "Reminds me of when you were little and mummy said that you becoming a pirate was impossible," he said smiling lightly, still surprised that he had actually cried. He hadn't done that in forever!  
Sherlock made a sour expression, "I _had _deleted that memory," he said tersely, "No you hadn't."  
It went on like this for a while until John came downstairs, "Morning Sherlock…Mycroft?"  
The scene of a disheveled Mycroft conversing with a put together Sherlock seemed a bit odd to him.  
"Did I um, did I miss something?"  
Mycroft gave Sherlock a pointed glare in case he had been thinking of telling John about the whole "crying" thing, Luckily Sherlock was in a good mood, "Stopped by to give me a case," he said in a convincing cold tone, though the lie was a bit rough. Mycroft stood up going along with it, "Fine, if you refuse to see reason," he said, "Then I shall drop it on one of my underlings, just pretend this meeting never happened," he added.  
Sherlock nodded, "Oh yes," he said narrowing his eyes.

John just sighed, it was too early in the morning for him to really pick up on the undertone of the conversation, "Right," John said his brow furrowing, "Nice to see you again Mycroft, sorry," he apologized for Sherlock though it wasn't necessary. "Same to you John, I will return later to perhaps coax my brother further, but for right now I have a lot of work I must catch up on," he said talking more to Sherlock then to John.  
The army Doctor smiled, though he was sure he had missed something. Mycroft gave a prize winning smile before nodding to Sherlock and leaving.

He called a car, which had been waiting around the corner (they often did that to ensure that he could run if worst came to worst)  
He sat in the back with a sigh, "Where to sir?" the driver asked with a faint yawn, Mycroft thought for a moment, "Take me to some café," he said, thinking it best to eat. And he didn't want to go to the one outside Baker Street certainly!  
"Yes sir."  
Mycroft sighed as the car moved, a small smile creeping up on him.  
So Sherlock did care.

**Needs some work I think, but I like to believe that I have improved in my writing Mycroft skills.  
Please review!  
I am all for constructive criticism! Typos, OC at any point? Missed Britisms? X)**


End file.
